


Dance, Baby, Dance

by Colonel_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colonel_Moriarty/pseuds/Colonel_Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seb has a night off and decides to go dancing.</p>
<p>Hilarity ensues (somewhat).</p>
<p>Just a bit of good silly fun. :3</p>
<p>Contains Punk!Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance, Baby, Dance

The night club was pretty full and it was not even midnight yet. The crowd was mostly gathered on the dance floor, grinding and bouncing to the music, the heavy bass making the floor vibrate. Colorful strobe lights danced over the masses, at times catching one of the sweat covered faces. It was almost hypnotic.

Nearby, at the long fake glass bar, leaned against one of the large square pillars, stood a tall man, holding a glass with an unidentifiable liquid, sipping from it, eyes half lidded. His dirty blonde, short hair was mussed up, his chin stubbly as if he had not shaved the last two days, his eyelids halfway covering his steely grey eyes.

He had a light grin tucked away into the corner of his mouth, idly tracing the rim of the glass with his thumb. His outfit consisted of a loose black leather jacket, a black shirt, a military styled pair of pants and matching boots. Around his neck dangled a pair of dog tags.

Sebastian Moran didn’t usually frequent clubs very often. But tonight he had felt like going out and acting as if he was part of the hip crowd, as if he was not the right hand man of the world’s greatest criminal mastermind. Jim was away on a party of his own (one of the fancy ones where you had to wear suits and ties) and he had been so gracious to allow his sniper to stay behind.

Usually Seb wouldn’t feel very comfortable with Jim going out on his own but the sniper knew he’d stand out like a sore thumb. Even though he had given strict orders to Dekker and Anderson to watch Jims every movement. And call him immediately if something was suspicious.

Right now though he felt a bit drunk. Not like he’d get a hangover or regret it horrible the next morning. More in a tipsy and exhilarated kind of way. As he gazed over the dancing people his eyes caught glimpse of a person who was standing out somehow.

It was a man, not as tall as him, slender but with a hint of a penchant for good food around his hips although he was obviously making sure not to give in to his cravings. Possibly working out even, although hardly in a gym. More something posh like riding. Or fencing.

His hair was dyed blonde and styled up into some sort of flame like Mohawk that stood up on top of his head. There were a few piercings adoring him, one on his left eyebrow, another few on the upper part of his ear. Sebastian Moran felt himself grow curious and curiouser as he started to walk into the stranger’s direction.

He somehow managed to make him bump into him, spilling a bit of his drink.

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

Moran raised a brow, hiding a grin. If it had been any other guy he had expected a string of curses and a ‘watch where you’re going!’. But instead the stranger seemed genuine with his words which didn’t fit his punkish looks at all. And every other guy would have gotten a punch straight to the jaw from Moran. But he somehow had felt that it would be different with this man.

“Don’t sweat it.” he replied, smiling, now getting a closer look at the other man. It was clear now that the punked up stranger was much older than he seemed from afar. There was a small leather strap around his neck with several small white seashells dangling from it. His torso was covered by a plain white shirt with a blue star printed on the chest part. The pants were ripped in parts, covering up a simple pair of sneakers.

How old could he be? Thirty? Fourty? Definitely not one the young and hip crowd that usually frequented this night club. He seemed rather comfortable in his outfit though and somehow Sebastian liked that a lot.

“It’s quite crowded tonight.” Moran continued then, starting to move his body to the beat of the music. The stranger nodded, relaxing, following the other mans example. “Call me Sebastian.”

“Mickey.” the stranger replied, smile reappearing, “I have never seen you here before.”

Moran somehow managed to get rid of his glass, chuckling in reply. Their voices were almost getting drowned by the music but he somehow managed to make himself understood. And somehow they both were moving a bit away from the main dance floor, making it easier to understand each other and dance close without being bumped into repeatedly.

“I don’t really go to such clubs often. My job won’t allow me usually.” he explained, feeling rather comfortable talking to the other man although he wasn’t sure exactly why. Maybe because they both didn’t quite fit in here but neither of them cared.

“That’s a pity.” Mickey replied, “But it’s similar for me, actually. But at least once a month I try to get myself some free space. You can’t sit behind your office chair all day.”

Moran laughed again. He had not expected his dance partner to work in an office. At least not with this get up. But it was mostly just for the show. Or to feel less constrained. Neither of them was here as who they really were. Just two ordinary people in the crowd, enjoying a night in a dance club somewhere in London.

Their conversation continued for a while as they kept dancing, at times bumping into each other, which drew a strangely mischievous grin from the sniper. He had no particular plans for this night and whatever the outcome to this would be he wouldn’t care.

Then he caught somebody stepping towards them from the corner of his eyes. A tall man with curly dark hair. His skin was rather pale, even more so in the colorful strobe lights. He was also wearing a rather strange outfit for a place like this. Long dark coat, blue scarf… Was that some sort of new hipster style Moran didn’t know about? But then as he turned his head more he suddenly knew who it was, causing him to sober up quite quickly.

The man stopped next to them, staring at the man the sniper was dancing with.

“Mycroft?”

Mickey blinked, his head jerking around, cheeks turning red then pale, eyes widening as he stared at the newcomer. His voice sounded a bit choked as he replied.

“Sherlock?”

The tall man in the coat gave him a bewildered look as he obviously was trying to figure something out.

“Holmes?” Moran blurted out suddenly, just as perplexed.

Both heads turned back to him as if both just now acknowledged his presence.

“Yes?”

Had they just answered in unison? The snipers body stiffened and a strange expression grew on his face. Oh god… That was not possible, was it? But he remembered something Jim had told him about. Damn it…of all possible people it this city he had to…

The brothers watched the tall blonde man suddenly rush away as if he had seen a ghost.

Mycroft sighed as he followed Sherlock to the bar, taking off the fake piercings.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, guessing he must look ridiculous but Sherlock’s face didn’t give away what he might be thinking.

“I could ask you the same. I’m here to meet with a client.”

Mycroft nodded, ordering himself a soda, sipping from it, rubbing his chin.

“I wonder why he ran off like that. And why he knew my name.” he mused.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

“It seemed to me that he was talking to me. But I don’t recall his face either.”

Mycroft nodded slowly.

“I think he is or was a soldier. Most likely he had been in a bit of a warmer climate than London for quite a few years guessing from the tan. Also the dog tags. A reminder or more. He said his name was Se-“

Mycroft suddenly stopped, never finishing the sentence. Instead he groaned and buried his face in his hands. Sherlock looked almost alarmed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to follow his brother’s train of thought but he didn’t have all the details.

“And here I was wondering why somebody would bring a gun to a nightclub and get in without it being spotted.” Mycroft muttered, face darkening.

“You’re making no sense, Mickey. What are you talking about?”

Mycroft just gave him an odd glance then suddenly started to smile, setting down his glass.

“I danced with the devils right hand man. And I think…I liked it.”


End file.
